


birthday wishes

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bad Writing, Birthday, Emotions, Hurt No Comfort, I hate tagging, I'm Sorry, IMO, Im tired, M/M, Not Pleasant, Yikes, idk dude, my mind spat this shit out, no happy ending, please, take it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 20:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16456502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mick wishes that Ketch would return home in time to spend the last few hours of his birthday with him, and while his wishes are granted, they weren't in the way he was imagining.(Like 9/10 authors on ao3, I suck at summaries. Go figure.)





	birthday wishes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DemonSquipster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonSquipster/gifts).



> jesus christ okay i wrote this for my girlfriend cause its her birthday and uh she likes ketchvies  
> i also forgot the login to my old ao3 account but you know thats okay i didnt even use my main email for that one but now its on this one so yeah xd  
> enjoy i guess?? dont @ me if i make you sad though
> 
> (also sorry i started to un-lowercase everything but i completely gave up halfway through thats a lot of work sorry)

the record spun lazily on the turntable, the room livened up slightly from the soft, jazzy tunes radiating from the corner of the room. the soft, yet dark drumming mixed with the eerie piano riffs that would sometimes join the fray of the other instruments only made the fire-lit room seem oddly frightening. the coziness that may had once enveloped the room was slowly melting away as the male singer of the song’s cue to join in inched closer and closer and the instruments didn’t seem to get more welcoming. the atmosphere of the room didn’t seem to bother it’s single inhabitant who sat cross-legged on the couch tucked away from the world surrounding him, instead immersed in a world full of work and reports.

a chewed pen lay between his lips, gently rising and falling each time he decided to gnaw on the plastic to try and revive his train of thought, hands choosing to cease their tapping away on the keyboard in those moments, instead gently brushing the keys as he thought. paperwork was strewn haphazardly across the once-empty spaces on the couch as well as the coffee table before him, stacked up into unholy piles in a few places, the papers only shifting if he shifted his position on the couch. an empty saucer sat atop some discarded document on the counter, the dishware having once held a small teacup; the teacup was in the kitchen beside it’s accompanying teapot, waiting for it’s friend to finish boiling water so it could be replenished with more earl grey.

he would occasionally glance up from his laptop and begin to squint, the brightness of the space surrounding him heavily paling in comparison to the brightness of the screen, finding himself quickly relocating his gaze onto the screen and settling back into his work quickly. his thoughts would drift and wander in those fleeting moments, the ties they had to his assignments quickly dissipating and twisting into frivolous thoughts about things he knew he’d be better off pondering at odd hours of his restless nights.

now, the noirette found himself growing more sluggish as the odd record played on, although the sound of his kettle going off quickly roused the feelings of drowsiness out of him. he shut his laptop, eyes nearly drooping shut as a mixture of residual sleepiness and the urge to squint as his vision readjusted to the somewhat dark sitting room, the only lights coming from a lamp somewhere in the room and the ever-burning fireplace. he trudged his way into the kitchen, his mind losing it’s grip on any sense of topics that were relevant to the hours he spent slaving over typing up reports as the lyrics to the song echoing throughout the house began to flood into his ears. the words sept into his brain and tainted his thoughts with comparisons between himself and—

it was like a breath of fresh air.

the crispness of the singer’s voice as the drums beat into a crescendo made him more aware of the happenings of his life that he had tried so desperately to escape through working himself to exhaustion. the thoughts he had tried, _tried_ to run away from ran back to him much faster than he could run from them, the images they produced swirling around in his head and intertwining with the song lyrics to form some sort of dark monstrosity that wasn’t afraid to twist and form its ugly head into the subjects of his nightmares.

his eyes darted to the small digital clock on the microwave as he fished for a distraction from the disturbing hives nest his mind was quickly beginning to evolve into. the small green digits read out _20:08_ , a time he could’ve sworn passed him by ages ago, and a bitter smile poked at the corners of his lips. today was yet another day in which his beloved had yet to return from whatever odd job hess had decided to put one of her ‘best operatives’ on, even if that meant his safety was critically endangered. she didn’t care all too much; kendricks would spit out another suitable agent to replace him with due time. 

today was a day that differed from the rest that had been spent without his lover, for today marked his birthday. he could see why the man had yet to return from wherever he was on this damned planet— big mission that would result in a high-priority, elusive monster (of which he could not remember; he wasn’t paying his full attention during the briefing, focusing on thinking of _much_ more frivolous things instead of taking notes and, you know, _listening along_ ) finally being dealt with after months of being a major blunder to the british division of the men of letters— but still! he realized how selfish and ridiculous of him it was to be upset over the fact his lover wouldn’t be able to make it home for his birthday because he was too busy saving the lives of countless people through ending one, but he simply couldn’t help himself in wishing he were here beside him now!

he wondered if he was a bloody mess right now, any sort of coherent thoughts that may have once been present within his mind leaving him as quickly as the crimson red sept out of his body. he wondered if the threat had already been dealt with and he had been simply spending the time stringing along some hopeless woman (man?) who had been charmed by him, used simply to sate his sexual desires as they were blissfully led along, world shrouded under the false pretense of a real spark of love between them. he wondered if everything was alright, wondered if the mission had already been concluded and his lover was rushing to get back in time to spend the fleeting hours of the day with him, warmly wishing him a happy birthday and then sleeping off their worries wrapped in each others arms.

the final optimistic wondering was quickly overturned and dealt with by the other thoughts his mind loomed out, each terrifying and disgusting in their own sort of way that slowly started to nauseate him, the thought of pouring out the scalding water to have a cup of tea rapidly growing more and more unappealing to him as his thoughts grew darker. he wasn’t sure what he should do now that this intense feeling of discomfort had settled over him; perhaps he could try and lose himself again under the mounds of paperwork he had to finish sifting through, resume his hypnotic way of typing and allow the rest of his birthday slip by him as if it were yet another day.

he supposed that sounded like a reasonable course of action, though the idea was quickly shifted into a getaway that was heavily at risk of being compromised by his bubbling feelings of longing, these feelings of angst reminiscent of those found within a lead character in a dumb teenage romance novella marketed toward the youth. he supposed he could turn into one of them at this rate, his workflow being soured by his romantic life to a degree where he would begin writing about his hopeless pining like some tech savvy teen.

a bitter sigh emerged from his lips and he tried to force his thoughts away from the forefront of his mind so he could focus on the things that were actually somewhat relevant to what he was currently doing—

_(wishing he was here, wishing they could cuddle, wishing that their lives were normal)_

—and perhaps even shove away the ever unpleasant nausea in his system so he could settle back into his workspace with a warm cup of tea and a plate of butter toast to satiate whatever pangs of hunger were being masked by all the other, more pungent feelings swirling about his being. _yes,_ he thought, _that seems like a good, responsible and adult thing to do to deal with all of this._

the fragmental remnants of whatever darkness that had previously been alive in his mind were beginning to burn out as he reached into the cupboard and reached into the small box full of tea bags, grabbing one at random and tossing it into his cup, immediately beginning to feel more at ease as he poured the steaming water from the kettle, the vapor happily peppering his face in wet warmth. the sound of the record continuing to play the other tracks on it pleasant to him, this song more upbeat and pleasant than the last (although this one was deceivingly cheery; the subject matter in which it dealt with still struck a few chords in him).

the noirette supposed that his birthday evening would end out alright in the end, even if he didn’t spend it anywhere near he had dreamed he would’ve. he sauntered over to the breadbox, thoughts slowly brightening as he stood observing the small selection of grains for a moment, eventually pulling out one of the fresher looking choices of the few and slicing himself a few pieces from the loaf, popping them into the toaster. perhaps if he was lucky enough, he would actually be able to finish the report he’d been slaving over for a large portion of the afternoon before some unholy hour of the night; the thought pleased him, and a smile reflecting just that beg—

the sound of thundering rain suddenly filled the kitchen and his mind filled with confusion, for the rain was rarely ever that sudden in it’s appearance. it also sounded as if a window or door had been opened, as the rain didn’t make the familiar pitter patter it made whenever it fell in messy, sometimes intense sheets on the various nooks and crannies of the house. he hadn’t opened anything in the house aside from some cabinets and the door to the bathroom, considering he had been swept up on the couch working for the majority of the day, and so the close sound of the rain was rather confusing to him.

the sound left as soon as it came, the sound of some door swishing shut being startling yet welcome, as he could feel the cold draft from outside from where he stood in the kitchen. more startling was the fact that the crisp, clear sound of the rain was replaced with the sound of eerily wet footsteps, though they came sluggishly, as if perhaps the thing creating the sloshing sounds were a massive fairytale swamp monster or something of that sort—

_(oh god please don't be what i'm thinking please don't be please don't please)_

—and the thought sent a chill up his spine. he quietly stepped toward the knife drawer and pulled out one that looked somewhat threatening, the blade about the length of both of his middle fingers stacked on top of each other with a serrated edge, and popped his toast out of the toaster.

it was underdone, but he supposed he could just pop it back in once… _whatever_ just came in was dealt with. grateful for the fact he was light on his feet, he darted out of the kitchen and glanced around, the silence disturbingly unsettling with the wet footsteps that occasionally broke it causing him to teeter on the edge of awful disjointedness and distraughtness. his feet carried him to a crouch behind the couch as his thoughts carried his mind elsewhere, the ever present sound of the footsteps dragging him back down to reality anytime he got in over his head in thinking about the possible threat.

he nearly screamed when he felt a dry, yet wet hand on his shoulder, turning around with such force he caused whatever just crept up on him to stumble back to such a degree that it fell on its back. realizing this to be a moment he could find leverage, he sprung up and mounted the thing, knife poised in a position that screamed he had the intent to kill, or at the very least, terribly injure. a throaty croak caused him to pause and stiffen, his eyes widening and pupils narrowing as his grip faltered on the kitchen knife.

“happy birthday, love.”

“you bastard!” he cried in turn, knife clattering to the floor as he pulled himself to his feet, watching with a sense of fright as the man simply lay there on the floor, not finding the strength in himself to stand with him. the noirette took this chance to get a real good look at the man he just pinned to the ground and felt his blood run cold. there on the floor lay the ever arrogant and terrifyingly powerful arthur ketch, chiseled face bloodied and bruised in multiple places, blood still oozing out of a gash on his cheek that glistened and gleamed with the dim light of the room.

he seemed to be in great pain, even though he wore a (forced) smile on his handsome face; he still wore his hunting gear which had most certainly seen better days, nasty rips in the durable material revealing patches of color-shifting skin, minor cuts, major cuts that should be tended to as soon as possible and disgusting looking welts. a frown quickly settled upon the noirette’s face as he glanced around, mind working a million miles a minute as he began to figure out how to deal with the dishevelled mess before him.

“ketch, you can’t just… show up like this! you’re a bloody mess for hell’s sake!” he yelled, speeding to the bathroom to gather whatever supplies he could to tend to his mess of a lover. the noirette was ready to burst at any moment now, the dark thoughts that had loomed over him minutes ago resurfacing and manifesting into dangerous demons he was absolutely mortified by many nights that would turn restless because of them. perhaps the pessimistic imaginings would simply stay as just that, and everything would turn out to be alright.

_(wishing that their lives were normal wishing that their lives were)_

he returned to the brunette with his arms full of sterilizers, bandages, threads and even a medkit he had found somewhere in the mess of a cabinet beneath the porcelain sink. he quickly knelt down and got to work with removing his upper clothing, tears stinging at his eyes all the while as the record still continued to play its downbeat melodies, “christ, what the bloody hell did you do?”

the whisper fell from his lips as the singer silenced himself for but a moment to let the sad, yet serene ukulele play out for a beat with its accompanying instrumental friends, the depressing mood of the song being trumped by the mood of the scene they found themselves living out right now. ketch could only laugh at the question and attempt to shake his head, the deep sound still sounding delicious and tempting as ever even though he bore a broken, battered body. “don’t be silly, i—”

“how about you stop being silly?” hissed the noirette, cutting him off sharply, “i worried about you. i worried i wouldn’t get you back. i did, but now i worry that…”

he trailed off as he began to clam up and the other immediately got the hint as to what was being implied, and he was sure that the worry would become reality. silence fell between them uncomfortably as the brunette glanced down at his lover’s now bared chest, which to him, still looked as if it had belonged to some ancient greek hero who was nothing but a hero and joy to those around him. unfortunately, he was about to bare the fate of a _fallen_ hero who was once a joy to those he protected.

with a small sigh that was interrupted by a hiccup, he got to work on dressing one of the more horrifying wounds, cleaning and wiping it down with care, flinching everytime ketch would wince in pain. it took him nearly half an hour just to address that gash, minus the time he spent wiping it down and switching items, all the while pausing to make sure the brunette was holding up alright during the process.

“mick?”

_(why can't we just be normal why can't we)_

“mick.”

_(why can't we why why why)_

“michael!” ketch shouted finally, regret immediately being scribbled onto his face as he began to cough violently in result of his shout, though he was at least grateful for the fact he had gotten the noirette’s attention through his pitiful shouts. he coughed, pitifully writhing and squirming on the floor as his lover could do nothing but watch him fight for air (he couldn’t exactly patch him up if he was moving around as if he had just gotten shocked by some ridiculously powerful taser).

“please stop trying to patch me up; there’s no use,” he wheezed out once his fit had passed him by, tears streaming down his bloodied face in result of both his pain and the emotions he had been pushing down ever since he was tasked with this _big mission_ , “i’d much rather die here within your arms than die in some disgusting hospital bed by tomorrow afternoon, my dear.”

“don’t speak like that, you could live longer and… and we could…” mick’s emotional threshold completely shattered at that moment and he began to sob over the battered body of his lover, the wishes he held dear to their relationship burning more intense in that moment than they ever had before. the wishes of wanting a perfect life for two of them became brighter as ketch’s brilliant eyes began to dim, the mischievous sparks within them never seeming to die out even though life was starting to fade from his handsome features. the wishes of them simply cuddling the rest of the noirette’s birthday away seemed to twist into the much more grim, dark reality of mick holding the brunette’s still corpse in his arms until the night passed them by.

“happy birthday, love.” the brunette croaked softly, a faint smile playing at his lips.

( _i wish i wish i wish i wish i wish i wish...)_

**Author's Note:**

> lmao so i dont know shit about ketch and mick  
> i mean i do  
> i touched s12 last year but i hardly remember anything  
> it was a pain to write this because it felt like i was imposing on this ships fanbase with my dumb shit but like  
> yikes  
> i did it  
> im sorry?? if?? it was bad?? ok bye  
> also sorry cliffhanger thing


End file.
